MacGreagor answered all of Mary and Elizabeth's questions about the countryside as best he could, and occasionally he smiled at Jane. Still, the hours seemed endless. Finally, a short distance past Richmond, Caleb was spotted standing on a dock waving his arms wildly. Once landed, he quickly hugged his wife, situated she and Mary inside the cramped cabin of a barge and put John in his lap. Impatiently he waited for the baggage to be loaded and the barge to be shoved away from the dock.

He had much to tell and not nearly enough time to tell it. "Did I not say in the letter? The place was let," Caleb said.

Mary pulled her coat tighter against the cold, "Let was it? I see."

"Aye, to a hateful man."

"Do you mean Aunt Charlotte let the place willingly to a hateful man?"

"Well . . ." Caleb started, his eyes shifting, "I suppose she did. The point is, he has departed, gone back to England and . . ."

Mary put a hand out and lovingly touched his arm, "Poor, poor Caleb. I see such pain in your eyes. Is Aunt Charlotte put down at Mahala?"

"Put down? No, not at Mahala. As I was saying, the . . ."

"In Richmond then? Has she a proper head stone?"

Caleb's look shifted between Mary and his wife. With sadness, he bowed his head, "I neglected to ask where she is buried. How very shameful of me. It was all so sudden, you see."